Wicked Game
by shalimar1981
Summary: After the Department of Mysteries,Hermione finds it hard to cope and receives help from someone unexpected.When friendship develops,will it survive the LightningStruck Tower?Will an ancient ritual help win the war?Not depicted noncon,not between HGSS
1. Prologue: Frustration

Disclaimer: I'm not making any money from this. Anything you recognise is not mine but Jo's. Sadly.

A/N: Though I've been writing fanfiction for various fandoms for the past twelve years, this is my first attempt to get one actually posted. I'm very excited about this story and want to give it my best, so criticism and ideas on how the story could progress will be greatly appreciated. This is possible since this is a work in progress and a great chunk in the middle (namely their sixth year at Hogwarts) is still missing.

I will try to follow the course of the Half-Blood Prince as accurately as possible, but since this story is mainly from the point of view of Hermione and not of Harry, some things are bound to be different. I also admit that to make this story work, I had to change the setting from The Burrow to 12 Grimmauld Place at the beginning of the story. I've tried to give a plausible explanation for it, but if you feel I need to add something, please let me know.

This is categorized as a romance, but it will be slow in coming. It's mainly friendship at first but there's plenty UST, rest assured.

On another note there is a non-con warning to this story for a good reason. Although it won't be depicted at all, the story will deal with the emotional repercussions of such an event. If you have problems with that kind of thing, please don't read it. It is not until a long time into the story, but it will be an integral part of it later on. But I want to say that it is not going to be between Hermione and Snape.

Now I want to thank my wonderful beta, Dark-Hamadryad, who polished off the rough edges and bore the hopeless situation of lack of commas and too long paragraphs.

Additional thanks goes to my two pals, HoneyB and Bi, who gave it a once-over (and more) and kept me from drowning myself in the bathtub in despair when some things didn't work the way I wanted.

And finally, I want to thank my baby girl, who is always wondering what the food person is doing in front of that flimmering box and who bore the occasional delay of a milk bottle and cursing when something went wrong with all the amused confusion of someone who does not understand the language - yet.

Boy, am I glad of that:)

Shal

**Wicked Game**

by shalimar1981

**Prologue: Frustration  
**

The summer between her fifth and sixth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was passing more slowly than Hermione Granger would have liked. It was three weeks into the holidays, and she had already run out of things to do. She was fast coming to the end of her tether.

Countless times Hermione had sat in the library of number twelve, Grimmauld Place, and had pondered what she hadn't tried yet to keep herself busy. Staring at books was only getting her so far. She needed something to keep herself from thinking about... things. So far, that had proven to be a fruitless endeavour, though it certainly wasn't for lack of trying. Purposely not thinking about something was far more difficult than she had imagined.

For safety reasons, the Weasleys, Hermione and Harry, who would join them later, were spending the summer holidays at number twelve, Grimmauld Place instead of at the Burrow. Too many accidents had happened to witches and wizards with connections to the Order to not take the threat seriously. As a result, Harry had been notified of his godfather's will immediately after the events at the Ministry. It was not very tactful, under the circumstances, and none of the Order had been comfortable with it, but it had been necessary since it involved headquarters.

Predictably, Harry had still been very much in shock and had difficulty accepting that Sirius was really gone and that all Sirius had possessed was now his. Still, with some persuading on the Weasleys' part, he had finally relented before they had gotten on the Hogwarts Express at the end of the previous term. He knew it was wiser to stay at headquarters. The only stipulation Harry had made was that Kreacher, the treacherous house-elf, had to remain at Hogwarts (with strict and very detailed instructions). Dobby would join them instead – paid, of course. He'd had to be convinced of that, but Mrs Weasley had managed it.

Mrs Weasley was quite relieved at Harry's demand. Not being solely responsible for an even larger household than she was normally used to meant that she only had the kitchen to worry about. That suited her just fine. More than enough chores would have remained for the younger generation to tend to, but after several Tonks-induced explosions, Mrs Weasley wouldn't let anyone help in the kitchen again. Ever.

The others rejoiced, while Hermione's jaw ached from pretending to smile.

Now she spent most of her time here, in the Black library, staring at all the treasures within. She had already read all books she was allowed to, of course. Not that there were many of those since the family's main occupation had apparently been to accumulate as many texts on the Dark Arts as possible. Those were shielded with a Restrictus Charm – a particularly nasty version of an Identiy Charm. It had the unfortunate side-effect of zapping the hand of anyone who dared to touch the forbidden books without permission, leaving the limb lifeless, yet in excruciating pain for the rest of the day.

She knew because she had tried, of course – an unread book was too much of a temptation for her to resist – and had no desire to repeat the experiment. Once was quite enough, thank you very much.

Her next avenue had been to study, because after the OWLs was before the NEWTs, after all. Studying, however, had – strangely enough – lost its appeal for her. She was still eager to learn, but in the face of death and destruction, her wish to achieve the highest NEWT scores ever simply left a bitter taste in her mouth.

So her studies were conducted only half-heartedly at best.

Thanks to her Time-Turner experiment in her third year, Hermione had already turned seventeen and thus reached her majority a year early last autumn. At first, she had kept it a secret because at the time, she was still somewhat shocked that her additional study-time had affected her life so much. Then, she had been too embarrassed and had finally decided to wait for the opportune moment to tell her friends. That moment had simply never arrived, though, and so they'd found out when Professor McGonagall had pulled her aside before leaving Hogwarts and gave her a stern talk about "responsible use of magic during the holidays". They were overjoyed of course and needless to say, conversation was very tense on the ride to King's Cross.

After the initial shock had worn off, she'd been quite excited about the prospects. The fact that she was no longer subject to the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery seemed to open up a whole new area of activity. She could now do magic whenever she wanted.

Charms, Transfiguration and Defense Against the Dark Arts were foremost on her mind because she knew she'd need them in the fight against Voldemort. She had realized this shortly after Umbridge had started her theoretical approach to Defense Against the Dark Arts the previous year and had thus convinced Harry to back the practical defense club they had dubbed the D.A.

The events in the Department of Mysteries, too, had taught her a lesson: Death Eaters didn't care how young or inexperienced you were, and if they had time, they would torture before they killed, simply because they enjoyed it.

Harry had arrived two weeks into the holidays, accompanied by Dumbledore, no less, with news of how they had convinced yet another teacher to join the ranks of Hogwarts' numerous and unfortunate DADA professors. He'd been glad to be rid of the Dursleys, of course, but was subdued and determined not to show that he was taking Sirius' loss hard. Along with the others, he seemed to have no trouble at all thinking up distractions; they were always playing Quidditch in the backyard, testing the twins' newest inventions when they came to visit, wreaking havoc on Mrs Weasley's nerves by exploring number twelve, Grimmauld Place or some similar nonsense she had no patience for.

After the fiasco in the Department of Mysteries in June, which she felt more than a little guilty about, the last thing she wanted was to have time on her hands to relax or join the others in their frivolous pursuits. In other words, she had a hard time not climbing up the walls.

Ron also hadn't taken very well the fact that she was already seventeen, and had been for almost a year. It was just one more thing in which he felt deficient. Age had never been an issue between them before even though she was the oldest of the trio, but now, she fell in the same category as his brothers: all older, better and – most importantly - more special than him in some way.

She didn't know what she had done to deserve what followed because she'd never dreamed the additional time would be added to her official age by the Ministry. She told him so, repeatedly, but it didn't matter. He avoided her whenever he could. And so did Harry. Again.

Even though it had happened before – third year with the Crookshanks vs. Scabbers debacle instantly came to mind – it still hurt more than she wanted to admit. She knew that when it came down to it, Harry would always choose Ron – the two of them had been friends with each other before they had been friends with her. It was a sad truth. Harry still talked to her occasionally, but it just wasn't the same.

Thank god she still had Ginny. Ginny, her only female friend, thankfully hadn't changed a bit. Though she still fancied Harry, she was always ready to praise Hermione's ingenuity to be able to do magic way earlier than the others (as if that had actually been her plan) and to badmouth the 'two insensitive prats', as she called them, whenever she felt it would cheer her up. Bless her.

But her majority also meant that whereas she could do magic now, the others couldn't. So she'd tried to practise all she had learned so far and some things she had only read about on her own. And it had helped. For a while.

Yet it also became even more frustrating because her options were limited. Only a few charms would be useful in dire situations. Transfiguration was practically useless except for Human Transfiguration, which they wouldn't start until next term. She had read a fair bit about it and had been itching to try it, but after an incident which left her hair standing even more on end than usual, she decided to ask someone more experienced to help her.

Only no one ever seemed to have time to spare.

What was her foolish practising compared to a real situation where her life would be in danger? Nothing! From there on it only got worse. Practising spells, hexes, jinxes and counter-jinxes for Defense Against the Dark Arts was all very well and good, but without an opponent to practise with like they had in the D.A., how would she know it worked?

It was futile.

Her new privilege of doing magic outside of school was proving to be more of a curse than a blessing with each passing day. If she wasn't of age, she could have at least complained along with the others, shooting murderous looks at those allowed – like they were now doing with her. But she was of age, and every day, her frustration was growing.

The only things left for her to do were to research ahead what they had yet to learn, memorize the relevant school texts and wait for the new school year to begin. How predictable.

Oh, and practise Potions, of course.

She had actually been quite hopeful regarding this avenue since she knew Professor Snape had a laboratory on the third floor.

Only it wasn't quite that easy.

Though they were in desperate need of healing and restorative potions, Professor Snape didn't seem to have any time to brew them, what with his main duty as spy for the Order.

Nor had anyone else, apparently.

This seemed to be the perfect opportunity for her to get rid of her frustration and unrest, to do something useful and restock their meager potions supply all at the same time.

She should have known it was too good to be true.

After an accident in which she'd burned her hands slightly with Bubotuber Pus, she'd been forbidden to use the Potions laboratory again. And had received two stern talks from Molly Weasley and Professor Snape on her "foolish assumption she could brew potions a witch in possession of all 'Outstanding' NEWTs still needed a three-year apprenticeship with a longtime Potions Master for".

For that they had time.

Of course they'd conveniently forgotten her incompetence when they used the potion she had just finished to heal her hands.

"Go study, Miss Granger. That's what you're best at. And if it's not too much to ask, keep yourself out of trouble! Some of us have more important things to do than baby-sit a restless teenager." Professor Snape had sneered at her as a parting gift before he went to another Order meeting.

As if she needed reminding.

"Fine. Rub it in!" she'd muttered under her breath, as she left the room with her hands tingling. After-effects of the healing, of course.

In direct violation of the order she had just received, she'd gone immediately to the Potions laboratory.

_Fuck the lot of them_ she had thought ungraciously as she stomped up the stairs to the attic. Her arms had been loaded with stolen ingredients to brew the rest of the needed potions she was "due to her lack of mental capability and imagination incapable of producing", to quote Professor Snape again.

**HA.**

Hidden in an otherwise unused room in the attic, she'd managed to brew the required potions with only slight difficulties within a matter of days, and soon, they'd quietly found their way into the supply cupboard of the Potions laboratory.

If Professor Snape had noticed the much needed addition to their supply, he certainly hadn't said anything. He'd studied her, though, when she was waiting like the rest for dinner to start in the parlour that evening. That was unusual in itself; he normally avoided looking at anyone directly and glowered at his tea cup instead.

She supposed he thought this way no one would dare pester him with idle conversation in mind.

When the others filed out of the room into the kitchen, she'd been last in the hallway. The swirl of black at the edge of her vision had made her stop in her tracks and turn around to the front door. He'd been preparing to leave, wrapping himself in a tatty-looking cloak so as not to draw unnecessary attention to himself in the Muggle square in front of the house.

He never stayed for dinner.

He'd opened the door but looked back at her as if he'd known she'd been standing there the whole time.

It was hard to believe, but nevertheless she could have sworn that he smirked at her briefly before he vanished into the night.

He knew. He knew and... approved?

When that realisation finally sank in, cold sweat broke out on the skin of her neck and she hurried in after the others to sit down for dinner.

As suddenly as that the steam which had kept her brewing those potions against direct orders went out of her.

After that, she hadn't dared steal ingredients from his stores again. She wasn't that eager for more reprimands or something worse.

Instead, Hermione had continued brewing with her own supply of ingredients. Easy and harmless potions so as not to loose practise, but other than that a waste of time and ingredients.

She had no idea what to do with herself anymore. She had to find herself a distraction quickly, or ...

Or what exactly?

She... didn't know.

And that scared her more than anything.

A/N: So, what do you think?

Seems like Hermione is very stressed out. She is also feeling guilty about something. What can that be?

Twenty-five points on the correct guess where the title came from!

Next: Night-time visitors, some tea and an unusual conversation.


	2. Chapter 1: Nighttime visitors

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize is not mine but Jo's. Sadly.

A/N: First of all thanks to everyone who reviewed! Also thanks to everyone who named me one of their favourites or simply read the Prologue. This is the first story I posted, so I was very unsure of its reception – no matter what my friends tell me (luv ya!). The Prologue was especially hard to write and even when I posted it I still wasn't satisfied with it. Sometimes it sucks to be a perfectionist. ;)

Oh, and the title is derived from the song 'Wicked Game' by Chris Isaak.

I just kept replaying that song while writing and I was never really satisfied with the original title 'Price of Redemption'. It simply didn't fit. But to reassure those familiar with the song and its generally depressing lyrics, it only reflects some views the characters have throughout the story and is not foreshadowing how the story will end. I will totally ignore the last line. I am a romantic at heart after all. :)

Finally I thank my friends, HoneyB and Bi, again for looking it over and boosting my self-esteem, my beta, Dark-Hamadryad, for doing her brilliant work and Snarkyroxy, who joined me after my first post to OWL and who gave me a few ideas for the Prologue and who will fill in as first beta while Dark-Hamadryad is away on her trip for the next two months. Cheers!

And as always to my baby girl, who was waving along happily when Mommy was excitedly bouncing away in her seat the day the story was posted.

**Chapter 1: Night-time visitors**

There was another thing that was puzzling her.

About a week and a half into the holidays, Hermione had been unable to fall asleep. That fact alone was not unusual. These days, untroubled sleep was a rarity she still remembered but no longer experienced. So it had become a ritual of sorts to tip-toe down the stairs and into the kitchen, determined to perfect some of the housekeeping spells she was banned from doing during the day and had therefore been practising on the sly.

Lying in bed, listening to Ginny mumble in her sleep ("Harry, my handsome wild stallion!") and counting the cracks in the ceiling simply wasn't a very productive pastime, in her opinion.

Just when she had mastered the art of having a grubby pan scrub itself clean, a _whoosh_ behind her alerted her to the fact that a guest had Flooed in – at two o'clock in the morning.

She turned around to see Professor Snape brushing ashes from his robes and was all of a sudden acutely aware of her dishabille. Awkwardly, she touched the birds' nest that was her hair and pulled her robe closer together. When he was finished, he looked around the kitchen in a most agitated manner, not noticing her at all until his second perusal of the room was done.

"Well, where is he?" he inquired gruffly.

She frowned. "Who?"

"So, he's not here yet. Damn it, I have to be back before..." he began exasperatedly, then caught himself before he divulged something obviously quite important in front of innocent ears. He straightened and scowled at her as if his near-slip was her fault entirely, simply by existing.

"I'll be out in the backyard," he stated before, billowing cloak and all, he stalked out the kitchen door.

"Nice seeing you, too, Professor Snape. Why he bothers to tell me where he's going, I've no idea," she muttered to herself sarcastically, furiously attacking a new pan until suddenly, a second _whoosh_ announced another late-night visitor.

Now quite annoyed, she turned around again, prepared to snap at whoever it was that the kitchen of number twelve, Grimmauld Place was not a train station. The words died in her throat, however, at the sight of the wizard in front of her.

Dumbledore shook ashes from his usual violet, star-studded robes and greeted her warmly as if he had just come over for afternoon tea.

"Good evening, Miss Granger. Though I should probably say 'Goodnight', considering the hour."

"Good evening, Professor," she merely said, wondering what on earth these sudden arrivals were all about and if she should offer him tea, regardless of the hour.

"Er, he's out in the backyard, Professor," she volunteered instead, guessing that a meeting between the two teachers was the most likely solution to this bizarre situation.

The Headmaster smiled at her, nodded and swept past her out the kitchen door without another word. She stood there for a moment, looking confusedly at the door before sidling out of the room silently.

Since following them outside would be neither prudent nor productive – they would hardly stand close enough to the house for anyone to overhear and would surely notice her – she quickly made her way up the stairs to peep over the edge of the window overlooking the backyard to observe them.

They stood just out of hearing range from the house but in perfect view for her to watch.

Snape seemed to have something very important to tell Dumbledore. He seemed unable to stand still, pacing the width of the yard, gesticulating wildly, to her great astonishment. She had never seen the Potions master so upset.

At one point the professor seemed to have finished, and for a long while, the two men only stared at each other, obviously thinking about the implications of what Snape had just divulged. Then the Headmaster joined in the discussion, which was more of an argument, really, considering how vehemently words were exchanged.

Suddenly, Professor Snape shook his head so fiercely and grabbed the Headmaster's shoulders so desperately that she wondered more than ever at what had been said that could make a man who was normally so controlled lose it like that.

Then, with one decisive sentence they were finished. Dumbledore walked swiftly back toward the house, leaving a defeated and incredibly weary-looking Snape behind.

She rushed back into the kitchen as quickly as she could, starting on another pan. She had barely managed it before the Headmaster joined her, standing beside the table behind her. Trying to look as nonchalantly at him as possible, she decided to offer him tea, no matter what time it was.

"Thank you, Miss Granger, but I think I'll pass. It is quite late at night."

"Goodnight, then, Professor," she replied, somewhat at a loss as to which niceties should be observed at two o'clock in the morning.

"Goodnight, Miss Granger, and thank you for being on the lookout so none of the house's inhabitants disturbed us."

She flushed guiltily. "Er..."

"No matter, no matter. I must insist, however, that our discussion, in fact our whole visit to the Rhododendron bushes in the backyard, stays among the three of us."

"Of course, Headmaster, not even Harry or Ron..." she heard herself mumble unintelligently.

"Good, good. While I must decline tea, I think it would be nice to offer Professor Snape one, too. I think it will be just the thing for him," he suggested and with a wave, Flooed back to Hogwarts.

Somehow, she doubted she'd ever see a grateful Snape, but as long as she was occupied and useful in some small way, she supposed it wouldn't matter.

As long as he managed to be civil, that was.

She put the kettle on and began to search for tea. Having tried the cupboards with no success, she finally found some in a far corner on the topmost shelf in the pantry.

Apparently no one ever drank tea here.

She sighed. And they were only tea bags.

Darjeeling, Fruit, Fennel, Peppermint – where was it?

_Ah, there_

The Chamomile tea was even more well-hidden than the rest.

Curiously enough, she found it beneath an almost empty packet of _Lovers Tea_ , an aphrodisiac blend she had read about when researching love potions – for class, of course.

She blushed furiously. She did _not_ want to know to whom that belonged.

She took the Chamomile tea from the shelf, walked over to another cupboard and got out two cups, determined to drink a cup as well for two reasons: one, so she did not brew the tea especially for Professor Snape, who would undoubtedly tell her she could bathe in it for all he cared, and two, so she could finally get to sleep.

She added a tea bag to each cup and placed them on the table just as the kettle whistled. After she had poured the hot water into each cup, she placed one in front of the chair she had occupied earlier at one end of the table and the other at the opposite end of the table, thinking it a safe enough distance from her teacher.

She sat down, and while she waited for the tea to steep, she rummaged in her robe pocket for the Valerian she always carried these days to help her get to sleep at night. When the tea was ready, she gulped down the pill with it, relishing the hot, burning sensation in her throat.

She must be really strange to feel like that about pain, she thought wearily, staring into her tea.

After a while, she heard the tell-tale swishing of robes behind her, announcing the arrival of her teacher. His stride faltered for a moment, then continued on more forcefully as he walked past her in the direction of the fireplace.

"Professor Snape? Would you care for a cup of tea?" she asked, without looking up from the cup she held in both of her hands.

He came to a sudden stop, his hand already outstretched toward the pot containing the Floo powder.

"No, I would not, Miss Granger," he replied tersely, without turning around.

"Professor Dumbledore made me promise I'd insist, sir." She was not above lying for a good cause.

Anyone who witnessed the argument in the backyard would've seen he'd been upset. The fact that he generally behaved like a complete bastard did not make her forget her good manners.

A long pause ensued, during which he said nothing.

_Probably deciding whether to hex me immediately or reprimand me for my insolence first_.

A tense sigh, a swish of robes and a chair was pulled back noisily.

She looked up at him, sitting in the chair across from her and looking down at the tea cup sceptically.

As if she'd be stupid enough to poison him in the kitchen of Order headquarters without an alibi. Honestly!

"Chamomile tea, Professor."

"I know. I detest Chamomile tea."

"So do I, sir. Doesn't taste much like anything, really."

Had he been anyone else, she'd say the expression he looked at her with was surprise. But surely the infamous spy for the Order of the Phoenix couldn't be surprised by someone like her?

Then he took a tentative sip of his tea and winced, obviously disgusted.

They drank their tea in complete silence. She, looking into her teacup, studying its intricate flowery design, and he with his eyes directed at the table-top.

At least at first.

As more and more time passed, he began to stare at her from beneath hooded eyes instead.

"Was there something you wish to say, sir?" she finally asked. She simply could no longer stand feeling his eyes bore into her head. It made her feel weird.

"You're not saying anything," he observed, openly curious.

"And?"

"You haven't for almost half an hour."

"Contrary to popular belief, Professor, I _can_ be quiet. I prefer silence, actually."

"Curious, coming from you. I don't know anyone who talks as much as you do."

"I talk less than Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown!" she replied indignantly. Surely he couldn't compare her to them!

"Now that's not very difficult, is it? In class, however..."

"I ask questions and answer yours when no one else is forthcoming," she interrupted him before remembering that he was her teacher and additionally not a very wise choice of man to cross.

He snorted. "The term 'question' would implicate you don't know the answer to it and yet you do – every time. And I think I made it clear that I do not care for answers that are copied word for word out of the textbooks."

"A question to confirm knowledge I am not sure of is unnecessary, then? And if I am not allowed to know the contents of our textbooks, why do I have to read them?" she asked tartly, starting to get angry.

This was really all she needed to top off her day.

"Such drama does not become you and neither does this turning of the facts. You have to be unsure of many things for you scarcely have your hand down." He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose tiredly.

All of a sudden she noticed that he, too, sported dark circles under his eyes. It reminded her uncomfortably that he was only human. Something akin to what she felt towards Harry and Ron when they were about to do something incredibly stupid settled in her stomach.

This feeling had always been her undoing.

The thought that she now felt like this in regards to her surly teacher raised nothing less than a full-fledged panic.

She put down the tea cup noisily and accidentally sloshed some of the hot liquid onto the table. Thankfully, the object of her musings was too wrapped up in the dissection of her character to notice. Thank God for small favours, indeed!

"You can't control everything, Miss Granger. A risk now and then on an intellectual level aside from your yearly escapades with Potter and Weasley would greatly benefit your character... I can't believe I am actually suggesting this to a Gryffindor!" He emphasized this with an impatient sigh. "A set mind can't be challenged. In Potions, as in many other subjects, creativity and imagination as well as a flexible mind are much more important than the knowledge textbooks can provide. Besides, rapping out knowledge won't get any of your classmates anywhere. We both know that you know the answer to every question I ask, but not everyone is that fast. Most students don't have the whole term prepared in advance and have to understand the basics first. And being an insufferable..."

"Why don't we postpone this argument to a later date?" she interrupted him, fuming and getting up from her seat.

"Tomorrow will be all right with me. Shall we say ten o'clock? We'll have to change our location, of course, since Mr Weasley will undoubtedly be gorging himself on his second dessert by then," he replied, mildly sarcastic, unfazed that she had interrupted him again.

It seemed it was fast becoming a habit for her.

"I was actually thinking about next term. While it will certainly enliven my undoubtedly boring day then, now it merely keeps me from my bed," she said icily.

"Is the Valerian finally taking effect, then?" he asked interestedly.

She hesitated, surprised how he knew, and debated with herself whether to lie or not. Honesty won.

"No," she replied grudgingly.

"I thought as much," he replied mysteriously and without looking away from her, took a small leather pouch out of an inner pocket of his robes and laid it on the table in front of her. When she didn't react, he motioned for her to open it.

With a suspicious look, she sat back down, feeling very childish for her outburst at his nickname for her, took it and released the leather strings holding it closed. Mindful of Professor Dumbledore's Liquorice Snaps, she poked her index finger inside it cautiously and when nothing happened, took out one of its contents.

There, in the middle of her palm lay a midnight blue version of Dumbledore's Lemon Drops, although she seriously doubted this was a sweet.

She looked at him questioningly.

"Take one half an hour before going to bed. You'll drop like a fly. Much more effective than Valerian."

She held it up to her nose and breathed in.

"A mixture of Jasmine and... Scull Cap?"

"With a touch of Passion Flower. My own creation."

She looked at him, bewildered. He'd offered her something to help her sleep – just like that? No sarcasm? No snide remarks?

"Thank you, Professor," she replied warily.

She swallowed the pill with the rest of her tea, proceeded to secure the leather pouch with its leather strings again and held it out for him to take.

But he shook his head, studying her carefully.

"Keep them. I have more than enough at Hogwarts, and it looks as if you need them."

She was normally not vain (not with hair like hers) but it irked her that someone who generally took no interest in her whatsoever now noticed the dark circles under her eyes. They had to be really obvious if _he_ noticed them.

No one else had, though.

She nodded at him, now more confused than ever, unconsciously holding the leather pouch to her breast.

He got up, then, and washed out his cup in the sink behind her. With her back to him, she was nonetheless incredibly aware of his every movement, especially when his long cloak brushed past her legs.

"It's time I left. Thank you for the tea. It was welcome. Goodnight, Miss Granger. I hope I don't need to emphasize that the meeting between the Headmaster and I was in secret."

"But you just did, sir," she dared to tease. "However, Professor Dumbledore already ensured my silence in the matter. So rest assured that Harry won't suspect you of another nefarious plot this term," she said lightly, smiling.

Her smile vanished quickly, however, when he kept staring at her with the same bleak and defeated look he'd had after his argument with the Headmaster among the Rhododendrons outside.

"Professor?" she asked weakly.

He jerked out of his reverie, turned away from her and walked toward the fireplace, grabbing some Floo powder out of the nearby pot.

"Goodnight," he said again and vanished in the green flames before she had a chance to reply in kind.

She stared into the now cold and empty hearth, thoroughly confused.

_Who was that, and what has he done with Professor Snape?_

A/N: So, what do you think? What is our dear Potions master so upset about? I wonder what your theories will be.

All herbs in this chapter were researched and the _Lovers Tea_ truly exists. I didn't try it out though.

I admit I got the idea to postpone an argument for a few hours from a movie. Can anyone guess which one?

I'm going to do that a lot through the course of the story as a way of a compliment. I simply love to guess quotes and can't resist slipping some in.

Up next: An explosion and a witness.


	3. Chapter 2: The Dam Bursts

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize is not mine but Jo's. Sadly.

A/N: Once more thanks for all of your reviews! I want to make this story as good as it can be and am glad for all of your comments and ideas.

From now on I'll make the Author's notes shorter. They shouldn't be longer than the chapter! ;)

The idea to postpone an argument was incidentally from the movie "Volcano".

Thanks again to Bi for reading it over, encouragement and her total lack of surprise at the reviews I've received from you. Thanks also to my beta, Snarkyroxy, for corrections and bearing with my slightly hysterical moments.

And of course to my baby girl, for not being jealous of the flimmering box Mommy sometimes sits behind.

**Chapter 2: The Dam Bursts**

Two weeks later, Severus Snape stood at a window in the library of number twelve, Grimmauld Place, staring out at the backyard blankly.

He did not know what to do anymore.

He had come here again to think and to look for an answer to his 'problem'.

His 'problem'. If only it were that simple.

The Black library had by far the most extensive collection of books on the Dark Arts he'd ever seen, he grudgingly had to admit, but even here he'd found nothing to get him out of this nightmare. All the books he'd searched, and yet he was nowhere closer to his goal.

There had to be a way.

No problem was insoluble.

There was a way to undo it, and when he found it he'd be out of this mess. It didn't even bear thinking about, what would happen if he didn't find a way.

If he'd only found out sooner what that midnight visit had been about...

He'd thought it worth the risk to find out what had been so important for her to seek him out. He'd only realised what he would have to do when **It** had been complete.

His fingers curled almost painfully into a fist. He didn't notice.

Just then, the sound of furniture crashing and a male yell reverberated through the house, triggering the usual mayhem caused by Mrs Black from the painting in the hallway.

"Blood-traitors!... Filthy Mudbloods desecrating my noble home!" The portrait of Mrs Black began its inevitable tirade.

So much for peace and quiet.

He hissed, annoyed. _Teenagers_

Couldn't they ever control themselves?

He stayed where he was. He'd be damned if he had to get them to behave themselves even during his summer holidays.

Though he couldn't help but wonder who it was this time.

Potter and Weasley, the twins, or someone else from that ridiculously large family?

An extremely angry female shriek echoed up the stairs.

That had been much too high for Mrs Weasley or the painting, and there was only one other female currently in the house.

_Granger_

He frowned.

She was normally very controlled. Usually only a life and death situation involving her friends would make her lose her hold of her emotions.

_At least in public_ he thought, remembering the troll incident in her first year. Her eyes had shone far too brightly after lying to both him and her Head of House.

_Or the threat of not quite perfect NEWTs_ he thought with a smirk, thinking back to her mere Exceeds Expectations OWL in Defense Against the Dark Arts, and the rumor of what her Boggart had been in her end-of-year examination in her third year.

A stupid thing to fear.

He wondered if it was still the same, though. His smirk was replaced by a frown.

She had trouble sleeping, judging from the dark circles beneath her eyes and the late-night activities he'd witnessed.

And she had taken a particularly nasty hex back at the Department of Mysteries.

He knew because he'd had a hand in healing her, helping out with a few counter-curses and some of the more particular healing potions. And even then it hadn't been easy. But it had worked.

Now that he thought about it, she had tried keeping awfully busy the month she'd been here. Maybe she had reached her breaking point.

If his assessment was correct, then the others wouldn't be far behind. Something had to be done.

"Ron, you big oaf! What do you think I've been doing these past few weeks since I've known for sure? Trying to make amends! For what, though, I don't know. It's not as if it's a crime!" The female voice increased in pitch and reached Snape's ears with perfect clarity even through the closed library door.

"Ha! 'Mione, do you think I'm that stupid? You've been rubbing it in my face ever since!"

"Like how? I've been groveling at your feet for something I hadn't foreseen and can't help now that it's done!"

"As if you didn't know exactly what you were doing! Did it intentionally, did you?"

"No! Believe it or not, my whole life doesn't revolve around you, Ron!"

What was this about? Had she dared take interest in some other boy?

He had certainly heard no rumors to that effect. The Hogwarts grapevine was a very accurate source on these things. Thus, he also knew Granger and Weasley hadn't been an item when they left Hogwarts at the end of term, but maybe the issue had finally arisen. They had certainly been dancing around each other for as long as he had known them.

"As if I wanted it to! Nevertheless, you can't deny that you don't even go to the—"

"'—loo without a plan'," a surprisingly sarcastic female voice answered.

Snape snorted.

It was a very accurate image.

"Yes, Ron, I know about that one. Very nice of you, too, to gossip behind my back. You are such a friend. You seem to be much more confident of my Divination skills than I am, however. I dropped it for a reason and that's because I think it's rubbish!"

Snape agreed whole-heartedly with that sentiment. Trelawney alone was reason enough to turn one off the subject forever.

"So what do you expect me to do, Ron? Take it back? I've tried not doing any magic now that I'm allowed, but you look at me like I've betrayed you regardless of what I do!" She implored him to listen in an exasperated tone.

She was no longer underage? Hmm, she did take quite a few subjects back in her third year. Far more in fact than could have been managed without help. A Time-Turner, probably.

Was that it?! She was of age and Weasley wasn't?

_My oh my, his self-confidence must really be low for him to worry about something as mundane as that and behave like an absolute moron with a witch he has his sights set on._

"I don't care what you do, 'Mione! Just leave me alone." That whining voice of the boy was really starting to get on Snape's nerves.

"What now, Ron? Are you going to sulk again like you did in fourth year when Harry was a Triwizard champion and you weren't? Are you going to do that every time someone has an opportunity to do something before you do? Because I can assure you, jealousy will never get you where you want to be! And I would be careful how you treat your friends, or someday you won't have any left!" she retorted a bit shrilly.

"I knew this was about Krum! I knew he'd try things with you, didn't he?" he retorted with a sneer.

_Smack_

_Smack_

_Smack_

Apparently Weasley had gone too far.

It was a sad testament to Ron's social skills with women that even Snape could see what Weasley shouldn't have said.

And he really had no experience with regards to relationships.

The next sound that could be heard was the bounding of light feet up the stairs and along hallways in the direction of the library.

_Oh, no._

In the next moment, the door was flung open and the slight, bushy-haired figure he'd been expecting bolted inside, closing the door behind her with a silent click, much to his surprise.

Chest heaving with emotional upheaval, exertion or perhaps both, she locked and cast a Silencing charm on the door.

So much for peace and quiet.

He hid behind a shelf, fully prepared to hold his hands to his ears and weather out the storm that was about to break.

And it did.

Next came a piercing and agonizing scream, the likes of which he'd never before had the misfortune to hear.

And he was a Death Eater.

It didn't last long, however, and cautiously he removed his hands from his ears.

He heard nothing.

At first he thought he'd been struck deaf on top of everything else, until he heard it.

A faint sniffle.

_Oh, no._

Now he rather wished he i was /i deaf and anywhere but where he was.

Granger. Crying.

Though certainly a new experience, he really didn't care to have it.

_Damn it all_

Why hadn't he reacted when he had the chance and escaped the library? Feeling the first hints of entirely uncharacteristic panic surface, he looked around the edge of the shelf to see how bad it was.

Something he couldn't name and didn't want to feel squeezed his chest tightly at the sight that greeted him.

She was sitting huddled in a far corner, leaning against the arm of one of the sofas, arms wrapped tightly around herself as she cried.

It wasn't the loud bawling of a first year, nor the desperately heart-breaking type usually favoured by girls her age. She was silent, tears just streaming down her cheeks while blankly staring straight ahead, making not a sound apart from the occasional sniffle.

Which made it even harder for him to endure.

The longer she sat there, tears flowing down her cheeks, the more her embarrassment and pain over the situation with Ron were replaced by the frustration which had plagued her the past weeks, and the anger – no, fury – she felt at the dead-end she found herself in.

This was the final straw!

"What the fuck do they want of me?!" she yelled, punctuating her question by hitting the sofa she had been leaning on.

It hurt.

But it hurt in a good kind of way. If there was such a thing.

At least when she felt the pain fade slowly from her bruised knuckles, she felt like she had done something!

"Argh! How am I supposed to cope if I'm not allowed to do anything?!" she continued to yell, grabbing the nearest pillow from the sofa and started hitting it furiously.

"No studying, because it doesn't work for me anymore. No housework, because Tonks is a walking disaster. No spells of any kind, because the others are not old enough and all 'adults' can't be bothered. No Quidditch, because Ron is a prat, the others side with him and I'm too 'stupid' to join their little club. Oh, and don't forget, no Potions either, because I'm too 'stupid' for that as well! Why can't they just... just..."

But she didn't know what they could do.

She didn't know anything anymore.

She hated that feeling. Hated it more than anything in the world. It made her feel so **weak**.

And just like that, the fight went out of her. She collapsed against the much abused sofa and resumed crying quietly.

The frustration and lack of sleep of the past month finally caught up with her. Combined with the fight she'd just had with Ron and letting out her aggressive side, she was completely exhausted. And yet she still wasn't tired enough to sleep.

How could that be?

Somehow, she slid back down to the floor as she tried to figure that one out but couldn't, since her mind seemed to work only partially. She closed her eyes and rested her head against the wall, unsuccessfully stifling a yawn.

Suddenly Ron's expression as she hit him popped up in her mind.

She chuckled.

Then it hit her.

"Oh, my God... I slapped him!" she exploded, gasping for air.

She burst out laughing.

"The... look on his... face!"

She laughed so hard, she had to hold her sides to keep them from hurting. It was no use.

"Three... times!"

She laughed so hard it felt as if something large was being ripped from her stomach.

"Bang! Bang! Bang!"

When her jaw started to cramp uncomfortably, she tried to stop. She knew she was hysterical, but that only made it all seem funnier for some reason. So she tried to think of dinner and that she would have to face him then. It helped a little, but she couldn't stop completely because she kept imagining him with three overlapping imprints of her right hand on his cheek.

Finally, only chuckling mildly, she ran a hand through her completely disheveled hair and said what she hadn't wanted to think about and what her little madhouse episode hadn't changed one bit.

"Oh, dear. What am I going to do now?"

As soon as those words were out of her mouth, a voice she knew only too well spoke up from somewhere in the room.

A voice belonging to the one person aside from Ron she'd rather not have witnessed her disassembling into tiny, psychotic pieces.

"I wouldn't worry too much about Mr Weasley, if I were you. In my opinion, men in general are least attracted to women who treat them well. And who knows? It might shake his brain about a bit and do him some good. He must learn he cannot depend on you or Potter forever," Professor Snape said conversationally, stepping out from behind one of the bookshelves.

"On the other hand, if you meant your other 'difficulties', I'd try the third door on the right in the attic after dinner, Miss Granger," he continued quite calmly, inclining his head by way of goodbye as he made for the door. He undid the silencing and locking spells, opened the door and left.

She looked after him, a hand pressed to her open mouth, horrified.

Well, what do you think?

Finally all that frustration came to the surface. And how it did!

Three more movie quotes in this one. One from "Dogma" (I couldn't resist), one from "The Hunt for Red October" and one from "Death on the Nile".

Up next: What awaits Hermione in the "third room on the right in the attic after dinner"?


	4. Chapter 3: Why do I always have to thin

Disclaimer: I'm not making any money from this. Anything you recognise is not mine but Jo's. Sadly.

A/N: Thanks again for everyone who reviewed. You really make my day! . Anyone who'd like to have a particular scene of HBP rewritten to suit this story please tell me. I already have a few in mind but I still need a few more (hint).

This chapter was absolute murder to write. RL intruded into my little story-writing haze and took my hamster from me.

Please don't laugh. I really miss the little bugger. sigh

Thanks again to Bi for reading it over, taking the time to reassure me that _everything is going to be just fine_ when I'm having another crisis and offering encouragement in my time of grief sniff. Thanks also to SnarkyRoxy, my wonderful beta, once more for smoothing over the rough edges.

And as always I thank my baby girl just for starting to crawl the day I beat this chapter! .

Have restarted my Livejournal which I will try to keep as up to date as I can. Comments will be appreciated under: shalimar1981

**Chapter 3: "Why do I always have to think so much?"**

The time between breakfast and dinner passed slowly, much too slowly for Hermione's taste. Since she was used to things not going her way by now, however, she bore it like she had borne the last few weeks, stoically.

After Professor Snape had left the library, it had taken only a moment's hesitation on Hermione's part, staring after him, eyes wide with horror, before she'd dashed out of the room. She had run up one flight of stairs and into the room she shared with Ginny, had slammed the door behind her and had barricaded herself inside for the rest of the day.

So since Ginny was visiting the twins in Diagon Alley that day, Hermione had plenty of time to torture herself by pondering the morning's events.

She had long since stopped trying to analyse why Ron behaved the way he did. It led absolutely nowhere and only gave her a headache.

Judging from his parting shot, however, he was probably jealous. Again. Not only of Hermione's advantage of age and ability to do magic outside of school, apparently, but also still of Viktor Krum.

Though the reason why eluded her.

She and Viktor had been close in her fourth year, but after he'd left at the end of the Triwizard Tournament, they had been nothing more than pen-pals.

In her opinion, there was nothing to be jealous of.

Ron had the right to write her whenever he wanted to, yet he never did. Probably heartily sick of her emphasis on intellectual pursuits, even in her letters to him. She couldn't help it, and Quidditch only ever interested her when Harry (and Ron, of course) played for Gryffindor.

She had also spent a lot of time with him and Harry. Plenty of time to show her he cared for her as more than just a friend. And yet despite some slight overtures in that direction, he'd never even asked her out. Not that she would be too thrilled, mind, if he did.

At one time, she _would_ have been thrilled had he shown any interest. But now? Not really. It wasn't like they had all that much in common. And she was just plain tired of always having to justify how and who she was. Which brought her back to her current dilemma.

Since this avenue of speculation had very quickly run dry, she turned her mind to dinner, or more accurately, what awaited her for dinner.

_RATHAG_ – or in full: _Ron's Ability To Hold A Grudge_ – was legendary and had always held a mild fascination for her. It worked so completely outside the realm of logic or common sense that she often wondered how It decided when and how to start operating.

In one of her less occupied moments, she had even tried to analyse the data she had gathered on _RATHAG_ over the years, but It had not been interesting enough to keep her attention, and so she was left without a definitive conclusion on that project. It was probably the only time she had abandoned something.

Er, apart from Divination, of course. And S.P.E.W. was only temporarily on hold while she tried to figure out how to make it more popular among Wizarding society.

Therefore, she had no concrete idea what exactly to expect for dinner. Ron alone might be predictable enough, but Ron in a fit of temper was completely unpredictable. Even for someone who took Arithmancy at school.

_Will he continue to sulk, as he so often does?_ she thought, lying on her bed again, staring at the ceiling, tense muscles aching from the effort to keep herself from getting up and pacing.

_Or will he start another scene over... Ah! Roast chicken_ Her mind wandered to the meal being prepared downstairs as her stomach growled loudly at those tasty scents.

_Hmmm..._

Then she admonished herself sternly and turned back to pondering, doing her best to ignore the loud growling permeating the room.

Wondering what horrible scene Ron would undoubtedly start later in the kitchen certainly kept her mind blissfully free of dangerous thoughts about the puzzle that was her teacher. For a while, anyway. They had tried over and over again to occupy her thoughts whenever she wasn't quick enough to push them away.

But since changing a subject with one's own mind was an ideal but nevertheless unrealistic endeavour, her thoughts always turned back to Professor Snape.

This new side of her teacher she had seen during her last few encounters with the man was very disconcerting. It made her almost wish for his petty and insulting sarcasm to return.

Almost.

If the persona Professor Snape presented to the world was only a facade, could the real Professor Snape really be so very different on the inside compared to the facade?

Some clues she had gathered since her very first day at Hogwarts as well as her interactions with him in the past few weeks certainly seemed to support that conclusion.

_What if..._

**No.**

This was not the time to analyse her teacher's character, but to figure out what might await her during their planned encounter later on.

_OH._ She blushed guiltily.

"And to wonder how awkward dinner will be, of course," she muttered to herself self-consciously.

She was almost convinced that Ronald wouldn't miss the opportunity to behave like a total prat again. At the thought of dinner, she looked at the clock on the wall, covered her face with her hands and groaned in dismay.

Although she had been waiting for the day to be over since their argument in the kitchen, now that the time had come to go downstairs, she wanted nothing more than to hide in her closet like a little girl.

But since she was no _silly little girl_ , and a brave Gryffindor, no less – a thought that didn't help in the least – she withdrew her hands from her face, swung her legs over the side of her bed and got up.

Now she couldn't shake thoughts about Professor Snape. Wonderful.

She really couldn't make head nor tails of it: his behaviour at school and towards her here at Grimmauld Place were so contradictory.

She frowned at her reflection in the mirror of the vanity as she tried to brush the more obvious tangles out of her bushy hair.

The meeting between him and the Headmaster and the conversation afterwards. Her illicit potion brewing and his obvious approval. And finally her breakdown, how he'd behaved towards her afterwards and that he'd – possibly – invited her to help her with her situation.

All in all, they were a very confusing series of events, which went totally against the Professor Snape she knew at school. Not that she really knew him, of course. She wondered briefly if anyone truly did.

If she didn't know better, she would've thought it was someone else under Polyjuice Potion – it _was_ featured in those Ministry pamphlets for a reason – but she knew it was him all right.

He always answered the mandatory question correctly before entering the house. Not to mention the fact that the house wards only admitted individuals loyal to the Order of the Phoenix, an added measure of security courtesy of Mad-Eye Moody.

Professor Snape, the Greasy Git of the dungeons, the heartless bastard, was familiar – comfortable even. Meanwhile, she knew how to handle him. She knew exactly how far she could go without seriously annoying him in class. She'd pushed those limits with him often enough to know it now by heart.

Familiar was good. Familiar was safe.

She nodded at her reflection absent-mindedly, although she was not quite satisfied with her result, and made her way to the door.

After his failed Occlumency lessons last term, Harry had also mentioned Snape being very similar as a student to how he was now. How Harry knew that, he'd never fully explained. But that knowledge, the abrupt end to their lessons and the disaster at the Ministry suggested a much different reason behind it all than the one Harry had initially volunteered. Maybe Harry had once again failed to realise that curiosity killed the cat.

Hmm. She couldn't deny being quite curious herself.

It helped keep her mind off other things, at least.

She walked down the stairs with one hand on the banister as she was musing about this hopelessly difficult topic.

She didn't know what to make of this 'feeling' Snape at all. He confused her and intrigued her, she had to admit. But confusing was not good. Not good at all! No matter how intriguing he was. He was not a challenge or a riddle to solve. That way lay only disaster, considering the kind of man he was, his position at school as well as in the Order – not to mention his position with Voldemort.

_There is probably a perfectly rational explanation for all this_, she thought a bit desperately, perfectly willing to grasp at any straw in her vicinity. Maybe he was feeling a bit under the weather, causing him to let his guard down. Or was it the argument he'd had with Dumbledore that was dragging him down? She'd never yet seen the pair disagree over anything.

_Perhaps because Professor Snape never_ openly _disagreed before,_ a voice piped up inside her, the very same voice that had been extremely interested when that very same professor had decided to take up the topic of werewolves half a year in advance during her third year.

Perhaps the strain of his spying activity was finally getting to him, causing him to act so out of character.

In that vein, Hermione continued to try to convince herself that her observations were false and that any evidence she had gathered to the contrary was inconclusive. She conveniently forgot that her judge of character had never yet failed her – Oh, all right! But she had been twelve for heaven's sake and Lockhart was... Lockhart – and that it had always insisted on respecting and trusting Professor Snape, regardless of how he behaved towards her and her friends.

But since it seemed to be the easiest, most obvious and logical explanation, she convinced herself that she would get another setdown and/or a punishment from him on the subject that she needed to reign in her uncontrollable emotional impulses.

She couldn't make sense of his words, otherwise. It sounded too much like he was being _nice_ to her and offering a way to help her.

And **that** was as different from the Professor Snape she knew as it could get.

_Except for a Lockhart in disguise, of course,_ she thought with a nervous giggle as she reached the last landing.

Some kind of worm or insect seemed to have lodged itself in her stomach as soon as he'd left her in the library earlier today, and it had fluttered about uncomfortably ever since whenever she'd started to think about what might await her after dinner.

It hadn't really been a choice to go to the attic later, no matter how his comment had been phrased. Of course she would go.

She wanted to know what she could do against this frustration, and if there was even the slimmest chance he might provide a solution to her dilemma, she was prepared to brave the consequences, even if it was much more likely she would be serving her first ever during-the-holidays detention. She simply couldn't resist.

_Maybe I'm not much different from Harry in that regard after all. I'm such a hypocrite!_ That voice mocked her as she hesitated in front of the kitchen door for a moment.

She hadn't been down since her confrontation with Ron after breakfast, skipping lunch in favour of bolstering her self-confidence a bit by reading Ginny's copy of 'Wizards are from Mars, Witches are from Venus – A Theory on Sexuality or Muggle Space Travel?' for a change from her wool-gathering. So she was now quite ravenous, but at the same time probably too nervous to eat much due to the thought of what would follow.

With a deep breath, she pushed the kitchen door open and came to a halt just inside.

Snape was still there. _Eating._ At the same table as Harry.

Now it was clear. The world as she knew it had ended.

Why would he stay for dinner? He _never_ stayed for dinner!

Did it have something to do with his 'invitation'? Maybe that explained it. If he'd said he wanted to meet her after dinner, why shouldn't he eat with them as well? The only reason she could think of was that he'd never done so before. But there were probably hundreds of things he'd never done in her presence, so that was hardly a sufficient reason for him not to do one such thing now.

Her short perusal of the room showed that apart from Snape, who seemed quite unperturbed and engrossed in the task of eating, the rest of the house's inhabitants were anything but and had obviously waited (read: dreaded) for her to come down.

Smiling much more cheerfully than was normal for her these days, Mrs Weasley motioned for her to sit down in the chair across from Professor Snape and as far away from Ron as possible. She didn't know whether to be grateful for that or not. Curiously enough, the insect in her stomach was rolling around far more insistently when thinking about Professor Snape than what an embarrassing scene would ensue when Ron finally decided to speak.

She kept herself from looking at both men directly, though she didn't think she was quite successful at smothering a snort when she caught a look of her hand's imprint still visible on Ron's cheek. She might have imagined it, but she could've sworn she heard an answering snort from opposite her.

Naturally, dinner was a very tense affair. For the most part silent, the only ones who really seemed to be eating their fill were Professor Snape, and Shacklebolt and Tonks, who came in later and openly wondered what had gotten into the rest of them.

Thus, most abandoned pretending to eat fairly quickly and adjourned into one of the sitting rooms.

Hermione left before Professor Snape finished eating and went up to her room to contemplate for the umpteenth time what he would tell her later. The others left her to brood on her own. Today was one of the rare instances she had the room to herself. They probably thought they could lower the chance of her flipping out again this way. _Ron probably also needs baby-sitting while I can be left to my own devices_, that nasty voice piped up again, uninvited.

At half past seven, she finally decided that not much could be garnered from postponing the inevitable and climbed the stairs up to the attic.

While she trudged up the stairs, she wondered for the first time if maybe Professor Snape's invitation and her resulting anxious contemplations hadn't in fact been the punishment she'd been expecting all day, as she remembered one curious fact: as far as she remembered, there was no third door on the right side in the attic.

When she had been illicitly brewing healing potions the week before, she'd had the opportunity to explore the unused and almost completely empty rooms at her leisure. There were four rooms in total on the fourth floor, two small ones, one a bit larger and the fourth was a fairly long and narrow one. Only one of them was on the right side.

She pondered this for quite a while, standing in the hallway of the fourth floor with her arms crossed beneath her breasts, then opened each door to investigate.

All were as empty and dusty as she remembered.

Staring for a minute longer at the long strip of wall on the right-hand side, she came to one conclusion: the only room on the right side was one of the smaller rooms. The length of the wall, however, suggested that there had to be at least two more rooms mirroring those on the opposite side of the hallway.

But where were the doors leading to them?

She walked along the stretch of the wall, feeling all over it with both of her hands. Nothing.

Contemplating this curious puzzle, she removed her wand from the back pocket of her jeans – constant vigilance or not, it was the best place for it.

She thought hard, all the while staring blankly at the wall. Then all of a sudden she stiffened and with a purposeful flick trained her wand at the wall.

_"Reveal your secrets."_

Nothing happened.

_"Show yourself."_

Again nothing.

She made a frustrated sound and resumed thinking.

_"Revelo."_

Nothing. She was getting seriously annoyed.

What had he said?

_'On the other hand, if you meant your other 'difficulties', I'd try the third door on the right in the attic after dinner.'_

"Difficulties."

Nothing.

"Argh! For God's sakes, open already!"

And thus appeared two doors on the wall to her right, one of them – incidentally the third one – opening conveniently.

A/N: Ohhh, am I cruel or what? maniacal laughter

After having had such a horrible time rewriting the mess I call my notes, the third chapter got rather long and in a fit I decided to renege on my promise to reveal the secret of the "third door on the right in the attic" in this one and divided it into two parts.

Don't sharpen your spears however for part two of this one will be up in a week. Got my taste for cliffhangers incidentally from Jocemum. Compared to hers, mine are relatively mild.

So since you're all just 'hanging there'(Pirates of the Caribbean), anyone care to guess once more what's in store for Hermione?

Another quote, from The Show of all Shows: The X-Files (at least before it went down the drain). And I twisted the title of the all-time self-help book women all around the world **can** live without: Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus. Huh! As if we didn't know that already. ;)


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